


Death's First Gift

by LaPetiteET



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Friend POV, M/M, Not Really Character Death, THIS IS NOT SPOILER FREE, coda for 404, elliot and robot just stand there i guess, i needed them to come out so bad during the final scenes, it's not really tyrelliot tho let me explain, spoilers in the next tags, the third alter, tyrell x the other one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 22:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21216050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaPetiteET/pseuds/LaPetiteET
Summary: Tyrell is leaving.No, worse.Tyrell is leaving, willingly limping towards his end like nothing matters anymore.Something rushes past Elliot. Something loving and hurt.Tyrell waits.





	Death's First Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so first of all: Sam Esmail, what the fuck?
> 
> I haven't written anything in months, let alone anything in English, but I couldn't let it slide. I hope you'll enjoy my potato!

The cold is gnawing at him, and he feels numb and heavy, like a statue put to sleep by centuries of immobility.

But there is one last thought, pumping through his veins and keeping him awake.

Tyrell is leaving.

No, worse.

Tyrell is leaving, willingly limping towards his end like the world has turned into a pile of ashes, and nothing matters anymore.

Elliot wants to move, but he’s afraid that if he does, the ice around his skin will crack open, and he will collapse to the ground, melted or broken, as Death and Winter break apart to welcome Tyrell’s fading soul.

Robot doesn’t move either. The darkness, the cold… He’s been there already. He knows.

And all of a sudden, there’s a shadow rushing past them. Elliot feels it – warm and distant, like an old star that used to burn in his chest. It’s free now, and its wake leaves no wind behind. The world may be slow and dying, but this… this is different.

Elliot watches as the shadow of himself catches up with Tyrell. He doesn’t hear footsteps. It doesn’t leave marks in the snow. It’s silent, determined. It grips Tyrell’s arm as if the universe is about to cave in and it’s the only thing keeping them sane. There’s despair in that gesture, Elliot can tell. It’s pathetic, theatrical. The Shadow builds a temporary stage, secludes itself from reality’s reach. That’s the human mistake. To think that you’re only a step away from Death, when in fact, it grows from you.

Tyrell stops walking, turns around. The Figure wants to scream – **it’s _me_!** – but it wouldn’t make much sense, would it? Elliot is all that Tyrell ever saw. The one part of a whole that actually loves him back, and he can’t even see it. The man is a walking tragedy, blind to his own happiness. _Aren’t we all?_ Robot argues. No, some of us take the time to see. But we’re human; too caught up in our crawling, whining selves to really try and seize it. _Is that what It’s trying to do?_ Elliot asks. Who knows? Maybe. It’s the first time Elliot spoke to us since Angela.

"I’ve lost everything" Tyrell says, and in the dead of night, his voice turns into frozen dust. "I don’t know how to fight this. It’s my only way out."

And the Figure understands. He’s right. But somehow, It’s human too, and It knows how to hope. And maybe, just because of that, the world – for a second – feels a bit warmer. The Shadow doesn’t answer. Instead, it slides a hand under Tyrell’s coat. Robot tenses. It still thinks It’s a god. It stands there, desperate and hurt, with its fingers stuck in a wound that’s too physical to be fatal. It still thinks life doesn’t affect them the way it affects others. **You’re only seeing what’s in front of you. You’re not seeing what’s above you.** The thing is: Tyrell is crushed, hard, by whatever hovers over them, and he fears the ghosts dancing in front of him. The Shadow thinks it could shield the man from Death’s gloomy eye. But it’s too late, isn’t it? In this reality the dead bury the gods, and it goes on endlessly. Elliot wants everything to stop. It hurts too much. What he can’t see. What he can’t hear. What he can’t feel. It simply _hurts_.

It draws back its hand, and it comes away bloody. In the moonlight, it feels as though the night has inked a poem onto its palm, leaving a stain. A permanent, mortal stain. Elliot has diamonds caught in his eyelashes, and he realizes that time has imprisoned his tears. They roll down his cheeks, heavy stones of clotted grief – it’s snowing on his face.

There’s just silence and pain between them, so Tyrell feels the urge to speak:

"There’s not enough room for me in that story of yours, Elliot. You have to let me go."

The death of a friend should not be this slow. Elliot wants to shut down his mind, let the mist swallow Tyrell like it has swallowed the faces of all the people he’s had to hurt. In his thoughts lingers the memory of a poem; a few verses written in the wind. If he thinks about it too long, it will start slipping away. Instead, he looks for it; the secret treasure buried inside him. He digs, and digs, and digs, and maybe Robot helps him. There’s dirt under their fingernails, and love pounding between their ribs. Elliot stops digging. Stops thinking. How can one mourn a life they’ve never lived? How many different hearts are hammering in his chest? How many different minds are filling his skull? How many different pains, desires, regrets are tearing up his guts? He’s too thin, too weak – he’s going to explode! _Elliot, calm down. You’re panicking. -Yeah? No shit!_

In the distance, Tyrell thinks about all the things he could have said. The Shadow tilts its head. Tyrell’s face hangs a few inches away from it; he’s the moon to its system – pale, distant, bare.

"I wish you would live for me," It says.

A violent sob breaks the silence. An ugly sound. Tyrell. His cheeks are heavy and wet. He raises his hands – the lover about to strike – and cups the Shadow’s face.

"I would have done anything for you, Elliot, had you only asked."

"Then…"

"I love you. You’re my beginning, and my end. You know that. I _love_ you."

Elliot cannot hear, he’s lost – wandering along the frontier that holds the truths from the lies. But we can. We’ve known for a while, now, haven’t we? Of course, we couldn’t tell him. It would have killed him. The idea that a person could love so much, and not expect anything in return; feeding only on the thought that there is, out there, a piece of someone else’s mind that yearns for them, craves their touch. And now that Tyrell’s life is spent on the white rug at their feet, now that the man is aware of the future he could have had, Elliot understands. This is Life’s last trick. This is Death’s first gift.

Elliot watches as the Figure melts into Tyrell and vanishes. He brings two shaky fingers to his lips. There, he finds the ghost of a kiss. He tastes the hard shape of words against his teeth.

"Bonsoir, Elliot."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Love, E.T.


End file.
